


Unforeseen Outcomes

by donutsweeper



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017)
Genre: Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 06:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17055014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsweeper/pseuds/donutsweeper
Summary: A migraine gives Oliver a few things to think about.





	Unforeseen Outcomes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionessvalenti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/gifts).



Normally, Oliver would have recognized the headache building. He hadn't had a full on migraine in a while, but they always started the same. First, he'd be a little more sensitive to loud noises, then he'd notice the slight metallic aftertaste to everything, then there would be that ache building behind his eyes and then finally the sharp, nauseating pain from what would feel like a spike was being hammered into his skull. He'd missed all the signs this time though, between the loud, multilingual conversation going on during the meal and the extra concentration it took to try to attempt to follow it, and the delicious, but unfamiliar food that masked the typical tells; it wasn't until the pain started to hit full force that he really noticed anything wrong.

Quickly mumbling some sort of apology — he wasn't entirely sure what he wound up saying or if it was even in any recognizable language — he excused himself from the table and raced for the stairs, barely making it to the bathroom before puking up what felt like everything he'd eaten in the last week. Lying on the floor afterwards he threw an arm over his eyes, trying to block the light that was doing its damnedest to make everything a hundred times worse and took shallow breaths in hopes it might temper the nausea and pain enough he could make it into the bedroom where he could ride out the migraine in peace.

At some point later, he was so out of it could have been minutes or even hours after he'd first succumbed to the pain, he became aware of fingers in his hair. 

"Oh, Oliver," a voice rumbled from somewhere above him. "Oliver, Oliver, Oliver. Did all the wine you've been drinking finally catch up with you?"

Despite it being said quietly, each word was like a hammer, smashing into his head. "Shhh," he managed, wincing against even that smallest of noises.

The tone changed almost immediately; it was quiet now, an attempt at soothing about it. "What's wrong? What can I do?"

"Head," he began. "Hurts," he added after a moment. He should probably explain more. It would probably help if he told Elio about the migraine and his history with them and how being in colder, darker places made things more bearable. Maybe then Elio would be able to go and find a cool, damp towel for his forehead and could help him get up enough so he could rinse out his mouth; all he had to do was ask for the help, but somewhere between his traitorous head and his tongue he lost the ability to form the words he needed.

There were some sounds then, murmuring and movement, but not close enough to add to the pain too much so he did his best to ignore them and tried to stay focused on keeping his brains from leaking out his ears. Not that they would — he knew that wasn't possible — but it always _felt_ like there was a chance they might, that if he didn't keep very, very still and very, very quiet and breathe oh so very, very carefully they could, just like the coffee in an overly full mug would slosh over the side if not handled carefully enough.

The fingers returned after a minute or two, gently running through his hair for a while before they began stroking along his forehead along his hairline. His arm was prodded to move off his face and he fought against it, unwilling to subject himself to the painful, blinding light, but Elio was there, keeping him in a shadow, in the darkness, and an icy cloth put over his eyes in its place. Oliver couldn't help but sigh in relief. 

Thumbs traced whorls into his temples, chasing away a little of the tension that had built there as Oliver floated, riding out the waves of nausea and pain. He was vaguely aware of the cloth being replaced once or twice, and at some point he noticed his head wasn't resting directly on the hard tile anymore, but rather something softer like a towel or folded up shirt.

Eventually he became aware that his feet were raised up a little and on something warmish, uneven and lumpy. Someone's lap. His feet were on Elio's lap and Elio was rubbing them, massaging them. It wasn't like how his bubbe would do it, not the bone-deep manipulations he'd demonstrated earlier when Elio'd had that nosebleed, but it felt amazing.

"Oliver?" Elio called to him sometime later.

"Hmm?"

"How's the pain?"

With a surprise Oliver realized he was clearheaded enough to actually think and be able to assess himself. The pounding, piercing pain and accompanying rolling queasiness had lessened to a manageable degree. The headache was still there, as was the weird, detached sensation that always followed a migraine and the flushed, overly warm aftereffect, but the combination wasn't overwhelming. "Better. Much better."

"You want to try moving to the bed?"

A bed. That sounded nice. "Yeah."

"Do you think you can get up?"

Could he? He still had the shaking, unsteady feeling a migraine always left him with, but it didn't feel like his head would come off if he moved or that it'd make him throw up again. "Yeah, maybe. With some help?"

Shakily, he raised a hand, about to remove the cloth over his eyes when Elio stopped him. "Keep your eyes closed," he whispered. "I'll do it." Without it things weren't quite as dark, but there wasn't enough light to cause him any pain. "Okay, let's get you up." 

Keeping his eyes closed he felt Elio grasp his arms and give a gentle, experimental tug. Hoping it'd be okay, Oliver gave a brief nod and between Elio pulling him up and his own effort he got himself partially up, maybe about halfway to sitting, before he realized the change in position was going to be too much so he had to stop moving and bit down hard on his lip, willing himself not to puke. His stomach behaved, but the overwhelming woozy feeling stayed so he reversed direction, planning to lie down again, but before he could he found himself semi-reclined, leaning against Elio's chest.

"It's okay, I got you." Elio wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close. "I got you. Rest like this for a little while and then we'll get you to the bed, okay?"

Not quite trusting his voice, Oliver gave a soft, "hmmm" as a reply. His eyes still closed, he felt more than saw as Elio settled himself, shifting about until Oliver lay stretched out in between his legs with Elio's arms curled around him and his head tucked under Elio's chin. It was nice, almost as if Elio was hugging him, but considering how Elio had acted during the volleyball game he thought he had to have been reading more into it than he should be. 

Elio was just being kind because he was sick. That's all it was.

But then as he drifted for a bit waiting for the tail end of the migraine to morph into a more typical headache, he felt Elio rub his cheek against his head before pressing a kiss into his hair. Maybe there was a chance for something between them after all….


End file.
